


Expectations

by airspaniel



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Guns, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-27
Updated: 2011-10-27
Packaged: 2017-10-25 00:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/269609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airspaniel/pseuds/airspaniel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>His hands hit the pavement, his right arm crumpling uselessly beneath him, and it hurts, it </i>hurts<i>, but he expected that...</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Expectations

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://sherlock-ldws.livejournal.com/profile)[**sherlock_ldws**](http://sherlock-ldws.livejournal.com/) week seven. Prompt: hurt/comfort

The gunshot is too loud, too close, deafening in the confines of the alley. John's hands fist in Sherlock's coat, shoving him to the ground. For a long moment, it seems as if time slows down, giving John plenty of opportunity to anticipate the bullet. A hot punch of metal through flesh; a burning, rending pain that's going to knock the breath out of him no matter how he braces for it.

It does.

He twists with the impact, knees crashing to the concrete and he'd wince at that if he could feel anything besides the searing pain in his shoulder. His hands hit the pavement, his right arm crumpling uselessly beneath him, and it hurts, it _hurts_ , but he expected that and all he hopes is that the bullet missed his lung. And Sherlock...

 _Sherlock._

John forces his eyes to focus, sees the wet drip of his own blood on the dirty ground, and a dark sweep that might be a wool coat. Beyond that, he can't be certain. His ears are still ringing. He sucks in a breath, aware that he hasn't in a while, and immediately regrets it as pain whites out his senses.

"John!" Sherlock calls, from what seems like a great distance. Then there's a hand on his face, and John exhales.

 _Well, that's all right, then_ , he thinks distantly, and then he loses consciousness.

\-----

He wakes up in hospital, and that's fine. He's hooked to a morphine drip, and that's fine, too. Someone is yelling in the corridor outside his room, and that's a bit not good, but John doesn't mind it too much. He suspects the dosage is somewhat higher than he would have prescribed himself.

He shifts experimentally, and the bandages tug at his right shoulder. His mouth curls up at the corners, just slightly.

"And now _you're_ awake!" Sherlock says, seemingly mid-rant, blowing into the room like a tornado. "And you're _smiling_ , that's _perfect_ , everyone in this building is a bloody _idiot!_ "

"Hullo, Sherlock," John says. "Good to see you, too."

"Good to see..." Sherlock repeats, incredulous. "John, you were _shot_."

John nods. It's true, after all. Sherlock doesn't seem pleased at his agreement.

"Been shot before, y'know," John says. "Worse than this." He nods down at his left shoulder, the twisted knot of scar tissue, and he smiles again. "At least now I'm symmetrical."

Sherlock chokes on a sound that might be a laugh. "Unbelievable! You are..." he trails off a bit, hands clenching and flexing as he paces.

John watches him for a moment, and things fall into place. "Sherlock," he says, quietly but firmly, and Sherlock stops; turns to look at him.

"I was worried about you, too." John holds out his hand and waits. Something flickers across Sherlock's expression. Surprise, perhaps. Perhaps something else entirely.

He steps close enough to the bed for John to curl his fingers in the sleeve of his coat. It's always softer than he's expecting it to be.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [John's Blood](https://archiveofourown.org/works/384184) by [heeroluva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/pseuds/heeroluva)




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